


Locket and Leave It

by San Antonio Rose (ramblin_rosie)



Series: The Stanford Adventure Club [4]
Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Abuse, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cross-Posted on LiveJournal, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mind Control, Possession, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27675073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramblin_rosie/pseuds/San%20Antonio%20Rose
Summary: Lucrezia Mongfish was a witch. Aaron Sturmvoraus is a drug dealer desperate to bring her back.  But although Agatha Clay is already suffering from the effects of Lucrezia's cursed locket, Sammy Winchester and Gil Wulfenbach are determined to help her before it's too late... and "oft evil will shall evil mar."
Series: The Stanford Adventure Club [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023742
Kudos: 2





	1. THEN

_October 1972  
Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania_

Lucrezia Mongfish knocked on her parents’ front door before letting herself in. Not seeing anyone in the front rooms of the house, she called, “Mom?”

“Back here, dear,” Mom called from her séance room. Lucrezia made her way back to find Mom sitting in her medium pose, arms spread to the edges of the candle-laden table and eyes closed, but she opened her eyes when Lucrezia knocked on the doorframe. “Is anything wrong, Lucrezia dear?”

“Oh, Bill and I had a fight about something at work,” Lucrezia sighed, set her purse in the hall, and sat down across from Mom. “It’ll blow over, I’m sure. I just need a few days to cool down. Where’s Pop?”

“Paris. Pierre and Demonica needed his help with something.” Mom waved her hand vaguely to indicate that she hadn’t paid attention when Pop had told her why he was going. “But I _am_ glad you’re here. Perhaps you can help me.”

“What’s going on?” Lucrezia asked, reaching across the table to take Mom’s hands.

“That’s just it. I’m not sure. I only know that I sensed... something _frightfully_ important occurring in the spirit world about an hour ago. I’ve been trying to reach out, but so far none of my usual contacts will speak to me.”

“All right, I’ll help if I can.”

Mom squeezed her hands, and they both closed their eyes and opened their minds while Mom chanted her usual conjuration spells. Nothing much happened for a minute or two.

Then a cold gust of wind blew the candles out, and Lucrezia opened her eyes to see a cloud of black smoke pouring into Mom’s mouth. When it finished, Mom sat stiff for a few seconds, head still tipped back, mouth still slack, and eyes blank. But then she closed her mouth in a smirk and brought her head forward, and there was just enough light from the hall that Lucrezia could see that her eyes, pupil and iris both, were sulfur yellow.

“Well, howdy, Lucy-Lu,” said Mom’s voice.

Lucrezia bowed her head—only one being she’d ever encountered had dared to call her that. “My lord Azazel.”

The demon chuckled. “Gettin’ stronger all the time, girl. Marriage suits you,” he added, rubbing Mom’s thumb across the trilobite marriage mark on Lucrezia’s left ring finger, currently hidden under a thick layer of concealer.

“Thank you, my lord. What’s the news?”

Azazel’s smirk grew into a grin. “I got through.”

Lucrezia’s heart leapt. “And?”

“I can’t tell you all of it yet. Even if I could, there’s not much you could do. But I can say this: he wants me to find a very special child.”

“I would be _honored_ —”

“Ah,” he interrupted. “I gotta cast my net wider than that, baby girl. He didn’t give me much detail; I can’t be certain which bloodline’s the right one. And for the ones I choose, there are... _preparations_ I have to make. _Capisce?_ ”

“Anything, my lord. _Anything._ You know my house is always open to you.”

He raised a borrowed eyebrow. “Are you asking for a deal?”

Lucrezia bit her lip. “Well, I... I can’t think of anything I want to make a deal _for_. Isn’t that how it works, you give me something I couldn’t otherwise obtain now, and I give you whatever you ask for later?”

“Usually. And everything you want is for later, is that it? Giving your first-born for a place in his court?”

“What good are children, anyway? All they do is keep you busy, spend your money, and eat you out of house and home.”

Laughing, Azazel stood and walked around the table so he could sit on the edge beside her. “You know I can’t make any guarantees without a deal, Lucy-Lu,” he noted, caressing her cheek.

She swallowed hard. “I know. But... I mean, I’m offering you a child who’s half mine and half _Heterodyne_. Surely there’s value in that!”

“Oh, there is. But like I said... no promises.”

“Even if you can’t, I can... prepare her mind on my own. Raise her with the proper expectations.”

“And if something should happen to you?”

“I’ll take precautions.”

“I like your style, girl.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be in touch.” And his smoke flowed out of Mom and out the door, leaving Mom reeling and gasping.

Lucrezia immediately got up, helped Mom into a chair, and poured her a glass of water. “How much did you hear?” she asked as she brought Mom the water.

Mom shook her head. “Nothing. Is everything—”

“Oh, it’s fine, Mom,” Lucrezia purred, savoring the prospect of being able to make her union with Bill Sanders—born Bill Heterodyne, grandson of Dynamis—work to her advantage after all. “Everything is _fine_.”


	2. NOW: Chapter 1

_January 1992_  
Ann Arbor, Michigan

“Sure appreciate you fellas working with us on this,” said the detective. “Especially you, Agent Norris.”

John Winchester shrugged as he and Klaus Wulfenbach sat down at the conference table. “All part of the job. But this is the fifth case in three months we’ve worked that’s followed the same pattern. We’re anxious to know what information you’ve been able to get from the surviving gang members.”

“Whole lot more than we expected, frankly. Seems whatever happened during that shootout turned ’em into regular canaries.”

John carefully didn’t look at Klaus, and not just because his old gunny was 6'8", had the steely eyes, chiseled features, and fearsome hooked nose of an action hero, and had always had the knack of menacing his enemies when he wanted to. The idea that Klaus’ wife Zantabraxus might be the Southeast Asian equivalent of a member of one of the Seelie courts—and a high-ranking one at that—seemed more and more plausible all the time. Not that this particular gang’s leader had been terribly serious about using witchcraft, but his spells had _visibly bounced_ off of Klaus and rebounded with terrible effect on their caster, and the bullets hadn’t made any sort of dent in him, either. He hadn’t even noticed that his marriage mark was glowing green by the time he trashed the leader’s altar. John didn’t blame the gang members for being scared out of their wits... hell, if he didn’t know Klaus, he’d be seriously asking himself whether or not to hunt him.

Then again, Klaus seemed to be just as carefully not looking at John, so maybe he’d been scarier than he’d realized himself.

“From what they’ve said so far,” the detective continued, “they’d been drawn into a network of gangs being developed by a syndicate that’s run out of Detroit. It has two main branches. The gang’s contact was a member of the Knights of Jove, slogan: ‘We bring the lightning.’ Used to be rum-runners during Prohibition. Their chief concerns now seem to be drugs, vice, and gambling. The enforcers are known as the Knights of the Smoke—real cloak-and-dagger outfit, may be getting some recruits who are ex-KGB. Both branches report to the syndicate’s central council. And the head of that council, if my sources aren’t lying to me, is—”

“Aaron William ‘Wild Bill’ Sturmvoraus,” Klaus supplied, spinning his pen between his fingers.

The detective blinked. “You know him?”

“We’ve tangled before.” Klaus flipped the pen in the air and caught it. “Sturmvoraus has a penchant for sampling the wares; seems his father’s philosophy was that you had to know the quality of the product intimately before you could sell it adequately. And he’ll deal in _anything_ that’ll make him a quick buck—guns, diamonds, information, you name it. Almost had him for selling weapons to Hezbollah a couple of years ago, but he made it out of the warehouse before ATF arrived.”

John hummed thoughtfully. “If he’s the kingpin, we take him out, should put a big enough hole in the organization to knock it out of the game.”

“Yeah, but nobody can get to him. And it’s not even that he’s that good. He’s just that _fast_ and that lucky.” Klaus shot John a sidelong look that said he suspected now that there was less luck than magic involved.

“Nobody’s luck holds out forever,” John replied with a hint of a wink and stood. “Thanks for the help, Detective. We’ll see what the Bureau can do from here.”

After a round of handshakes, the two hunters left. But before they could begin discussing the case outside, Klaus’ pager went off—and he scowled at the number it showed.

“What?” John asked.

“Better answer this one from a pay phone,” Klaus replied. “It’s Sturmvoraus.”

“Speak of the devil, eh?”

“Not sure if it’s that or if someone got word to him that we’re closing in. Not that we’re _close_ , exactly, but still. We’re in the same state, literally and metaphorically.”

“Hrm.” John looked around and spotted a phone booth across the street from the police station. “Well, no time like the present,” he said, pointing to it.

Klaus sighed, nodded, and stalked across the street, while John ducked into the coffee shop next door for some better coffee than the PD had had. (He’d managed to refrain from asking where Sgt. Yemana was, but only just.) No sooner had he paid for the coffee and accepted a free cheese Danish, however, than Klaus came back across the street, scowling even more deeply than he had been. John quickly collected both cups and pastry and hurried out to Klaus’ ’87 Crown Vic, which they’d been using in their “official” capacity because it was less conspicuous than the Impala.

“Danish?” he offered as he reached the car.

Klaus shook his head but accepted the coffee. He waited until they’d gotten in, however, before stating, “He wants me to help him find someone.”

John blinked. “He what?”

“Sounded pretty stoned. I can’t tell if it’s a trap or if he’s serious. He did mumble something about scrying, but I couldn’t understand most of it.”

John sighed and checked his watch. “Detroit’s only an hour away. We can get there and back before dark.” When Klaus raised a questioning eyebrow, John continued, “Hell, we’re not gonna have a better chance to get in. If he _is_ pushing the sorcery along with the drugs, we need to stop him ourselves. If he’s just a crook, and he’s stupid enough to do this, we can swipe enough evidence for the real Feds to take him down.”

“What is this _we_ business, Corporal? He asked for _me_.”

“Not knowing you now have a partner. Look, you know him; I know witches. Besides, if it _is_ a trap, you’ll need backup.”

Klaus grumbled but took a drink of coffee, started the engine, and got on the highway to Detroit without going back to the motel first, which John decided was a sign he’d won this particular argument and celebrated by eating the Danish before Klaus could change his mind.

Getting to the Sturmvoraus mansion in Grosse Pointe turned out to be easy—almost _too_ easy. Traffic was lighter than John had expected, and although it was snowing slightly by the time they arrived, the streets weren’t bad. Getting in the gate _was_ too easy; the gatehouse was unmanned, and the gate had been left open. Now on high alert, Klaus parked in front of the front steps, and John accompanied him up the steps and in the unlocked and unguarded front door.

“Something’s wrong,” Klaus murmured.

John nodded his agreement, and they both paused to listen and look around. Then raised voices from behind one of the closed doors caught their attention, and they edged toward it.

“... _nine years old!_ ” shouted a young woman, probably early twenties.

“Anevka, please,” pleaded a boy, voice cracking on the edge of puberty.

“Stay out of this, Tarvek!”

An adult male voice slurred something John couldn’t make out. Klaus pointed to the door and signed _AWS_ , meaning that voice belonged to Sturmvoraus.

“No!” the woman—Anevka?—insisted. “You are _not_ gonna do to her what you did to me!”

“Dammit, ’Nevka!” Sturmvoraus roared. “I broughchoo inna this world; I c’n take you out of it!”

Anevka’s response was a chuckle that made John’s hair stand on end. “That’s just what Mother said. Back in ’86, remember? _Remember what I did to her?!_ ”

The boy—Tarvek?—tried again to intervene, but he’d barely gotten out half a word when there was a gunshot, followed by a startled female squeak and the thump of a body crumpling to the floor.

“ANEVKA!!!” Tarvek wailed.

“Teejer ta talk back ta me,” Sturmvoraus snarled. “An’ azzz fer you—”

He was interrupted by a bone-chilling baying from outside. Klaus shot John a startled look.

 _Hellhound_ , John mouthed, and Klaus’ eyes widened further.

The hound bayed again, closer this time, and both hunters drew their sidearms. John tried the door but found it locked. Klaus motioned him back and kicked it open, revealing what appeared to be a study with a seedy-looking man, undoubtedly Sturmvoraus, standing terror-stricken behind the desk. But before they could charge in, a gust of wind that stank of death and sulfur rushed past them with a blood-curdling snarl, and they froze in the doorway as invisible claws tore into Sturmvoraus’ belly and invisible fangs sank into his neck, choking off his scream. Then he was shaken like a rag doll and his neck snapped. The hound bayed once more in triumph and rushed out again, leaving Sturmvoraus’ mangled body slumped forward on the desk.

“No,” Tarvek’s voice breathed, finally drawing John’s attention to the boy—about Dean and Gil’s age, with auburn hair so dark it almost looked maroon—standing stunned a few feet away, in front of another door. “ _No_ , that’s... that’s not how it was supposed to go....”

“Son?” Klaus asked, which snapped the boy out of his shock. “What happened?”

Tarvek swallowed hard. “Are you Mr. Wulfenbach?”

“I am.”

“He was... he was going to ask you to find someone for him. A girl. The, uh... the daughter of a lover. He’s been making me do Internet research, but he doesn’t— _didn’t_ know enough about computers to know I was lying when I told him I couldn’t find anything. Anevka came home today from a business trip, and when I told her about it... she just snapped, dragged me in here to confront Father, and....” Tarvek faltered to a stop, looking back at the corpses.

“We heard part of it,” John admitted as he followed Klaus into the study, both stowing their guns. “Why did the hellhound attack? Had he made a deal?”

Tarvek blinked, startled, then sighed heavily. “Yes, sir. It was... about eight years ago. He was really high, and he... he called Anevka in here and... well, he almost killed her. But when he realized what he’d done, he ran straight to a crossroads and... brought her back. I’m not sure she came back right.” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, Father told me once that a condition of his deal was that he couldn’t even _touch_ Anevka again, and especially if he ever hurt her again, he would die. I guess... I guess he forgot.”

Frowning, John began scanning the room for an altar.

“Reason they call it _dope_ ,” Klaus quipped, then sighed. “Well—Tarvek, is it?”

“Yes, sir,” Tarvek answered.

“You have any relatives we should call, or—”

“No!” Tarvek yelped, shrinking back. “No, _please_ don’t make me stay with my family!”

“They all in the business?”

“Yes, sir. Both sides. Mother’s family is in the Russian Mafia.”

“And where is your mother?”

“Dead. Anevka killed her.”

“Oh, great,” John groaned, stepping around the growing pool of blood behind Sturmvoraus’ desk. Then he noticed that one of the curtains beside him was covering something.

“We’ve been planning to run away,” Tarvek confessed. “My cousin Violetta and I, I mean. I’ve been trying to get myself emancipated, but Father’s got— _had_ so many judges bought off, I haven’t even gotten as far as the application.”

“What have we here?” John murmured and pulled back the curtain to reveal not only a low altar but also what looked like some sort of shrine, the focus of which was a photo of a strawberry blonde with grey eyes and pouty lips set in a face that was basically a sideways oval in shape.

Klaus approached the desk cautiously to look over John’s shoulder, inhaled sharply, and hissed, “ _Lucrezia!_ ”

John blinked and turned to him. “ _That’s_ your ex-girlfriend?”

Instead of answering, Klaus rounded on Tarvek. “How did your father know Lucrezia Mongfish?”

“I-I don’t know, sir,” Tarvek stammered. “I just know he did.”

“And she was the lover whose daughter he wanted me to find?”

“Yes, sir. He always said he’d never get over her. He said she’d taught him everything he knew about... that.” Tarvek waved a hand toward the altar.

John kicked the altar over and looked at Tarvek again. “Where’s everyone else?”

“At the docks. Father ordered everyone out of the house for an hour.”

Klaus frowned. “And they all went? Even the guards?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And nobody asked any questions?”

Tarvek looked down at the ground. “Nobody ever questioned him. Nobody could, except... Anevka and Violetta and I. At first, it was because we were kids. After the deal, I don’t think he dared try anything on Anevka, and... I... I found a way to protect Violetta and myself.”

John’s skin crawled. “Thrall. That’s what you’re talking about, isn’t it?”

Tarvek nodded miserably. “He said he learned it from Lucrezia.”

Klaus swore bitterly in Vietnamese. Tarvek flinched.

“All right,” said John. “We need to get out of here before that hour is up. Where’s your cousin?”

Tarvek turned back to the door behind him. “Violetta?”

A younger girl with short, spiky hair the same shade of auburn as Tarvek’s poked her head past the doorframe. “What?”

“We’re leaving.”

Violetta ducked out again briefly, then came all the way into the room with two backpacks. One she handed to Tarvek; the other she slung over her own shoulder.

“We can have another hunter clean up anything that needs burning later,” John said and grabbed the desk phone, now glad both that Klaus had insisted on his getting a pair of Isotoner gloves and that he’d kept them on when they came inside. He quickly dialed 911, reported the shooting, and hung up.

And with that, Klaus herded the kids out to the car, with John covering their six, and once everyone was in, they sped off. They’d gotten half a mile down the road when a line of squad cars raced past them, headed toward the mansion. But no one stopped them, and they made it through Detroit without incident.

When it became apparent that they’d made good their escape, Klaus finally relaxed and glanced at John. “What do we do about them?” he asked, nodding toward the back seat slightly.

“I’ll call someone when we stop for gas,” John replied.

Klaus took the hint and stopped at a gas station in Canton. While he made a show of filling up, John found a pay phone and called Jim Murphy.

“John!” Jim replied. “I was just on my way out the door. What’s up?”

“Got a couple of orphans I need to place,” John told him. “Dad violated a crossroads deal, and mom died years ago. Rest of the family’s no better, and you know what the foster system is. Was hoping you’d take ’em, at least temporarily.”

“Ages?”

“Boy’s probably 13. Girl’s... I dunno, eight, nine. They’re actually cousins but don’t want to be separated.”

“Hm. Well, I’m not saying no yet. But the fact is, I’m about to head down to meet Bobby at Harvelle’s. There’s a couple whose daughter is having some strange problems. Would you mind joining us? Bring the children, of course; if I can’t take them, maybe Bill and Ellen would.”

John sighed. “Yeah, all right. Might be better if we leave the kids at the motel while we meet your case at the Roadhouse.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Oh, and Jim... I picked up a partner a few months ago.”

“So I heard. Who is it?”

“Gunny Wulfenbach.”

A beat passed before Jim yelped, “He’s _alive?!_ ”

“Wild story. We’ll tell you later. I just... thought I should warn you.”

“I’m glad you did. Wouldn’t do to pass out when I see him!”

John laughed in spite of himself. “All right, see you tomorrow.”

As he hung up, Klaus walked over. “Who’d you call?”

“Murphy. Wants us to meet him in Nebraska tomorrow. I know the place; you can follow me.” John didn’t _think_ they would have been followed this far by anyone who wouldn’t accost them right away, but just in case, he didn’t want to say too much where anyone might overhear, even by accident.

“Fine.” Klaus paused. “Gil rides with you.”

John understood perfectly; he wasn’t sure he wanted Aaron Sturmvoraus’ kid anywhere near his own sons, either. “Sir, yes, sir.”

Klaus snorted in amusement, and they went back to the car.

The boys had known since breakfast that the plan was to leave town that day, so they already had the Impala packed and Zoing’s tank prepped for transport by the time Klaus and John arrived back at the motel. John checked both families out while Dean got the Impala started to warm it up and Gil and Klaus got Zoing situated in his usual slot in the Crown Vic’s trunk, and five minutes later they were headed west, Sammy trying to read in the front seat with John and Dean and Gil chattering in the back. Upon learning that Klaus wasn’t entirely sure of Gil’s exact birthdate, Dean had offered to let Gil share his birthday, and now they were planning not only what to do for their first joint party on the 24th but also how they’d spend the rest of their lives as best friends forever. Some of their ideas gave John a pang of regret because he knew they’d never come to pass unless he could find and kill the yellow-eyed demon soon, but still... it warmed his heart to know that Dean probably _had_ found a friend for life in Gil.

“How come nobody wants to share _my_ birthday?” Sammy finally interrupted sulkily about the time John started scouting for a place to get supper from a drive-through.

Dean leaned forward, tapped the top of Sammy’s head, and waited until Sammy turned to glare at him to say sincerely, “’Cause you’re so cool, you deserve a day all to yourself.”

Sammy’s eyes widened as he considered that perspective.

“I second that,” Gil stated, his grin audible in his voice.

“All in favor?” John asked, unable to keep from smiling himself.

“AYE!” three young voices chorused.

“Sounds like the ayes have it!”

Sammy giggled, and Dean tousled his hair and sat back.

The boys dozed off somewhere west of Joliet, which was just as well because the roads in Iowa were treacherous enough that John needed to give his full attention to driving. Outside Iowa City, he radioed Klaus on the CB to ask whether they ought to stop for the night and continue at first light, but Klaus pointed out that the roads would only be worse then, so they pushed on, getting the biggest cups of coffee they could every time they stopped for gas. And in the end, it was just about daybreak when they pulled into the nearly deserted parking lot of the Beetleburg Motor Inn. The clerk was only too happy to let them check in that early and didn’t even hesitate when they asked for adjoining rooms, and after adults and kids alike filled up at the continental breakfast, John set salt lines in his room, turned the TV on quietly for the boys, and stretched out on one bed for a nap.

It felt like five minutes later when Dean’s quiet “Hi, Pastor Jim!” roused John, but a quick glance at the clock showed that he’d slept just over an hour. As he sat up, he saw the connecting door standing open and two red heads in front of the TV along with Gil and Sammy’s brown heads. _Well, at least they’re not getting in trouble_ , John thought and stood with a groan.

“You all right, John?” Jim asked, coming in to shake hands.

“Yeah, just stiff,” John answered and smiled in spite of himself. “Good to see you.”

“I see you’ve got a new basketball team!”

“Oh, allow me,” Dean said before John could, and the other kids stood. “Gil Wulfenbach, Tarvek Sturmvoraus, and Violetta Mondarev. This is Pastor Jim. He’s cool.”

Jim chuckled and shook hands. “Nice to meet you all.”

“Heard a lot about you, sir,” Gil replied.

“I bet you have! Where’s your dad?”

“Next door,” John supplied, pointing to the connecting door with his thumb.

“Still asleep, last I checked,” Gil added.

“Not anymore,” Klaus rumbled and ducked through the doorway. “Hi, Murph.”

“Of all the voices I never thought I’d hear again,” Jim replied with a grin and went to shake Klaus’ hand. “Good to see you, Gunny.”

Klaus blinked and pointed to Jim’s clerical collar with his free hand. “You’re a padre?”

“Pastor, technically. Sacrament Lutheran, Blue Earth, Minnesota.”

“Huh. Never figured you for a sky pilot. Then again, I never figured John for a hunter.”

John huffed and turned back to Dean. “We need to talk business for a while, Champ.”

Dean nodded his understanding. “Yes, sir.”

“You kids need anything, knock.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, Klaus ushered Jim and John through the connecting door and locked it behind him. “I’ll start the coffee,” he said, waving the other two men toward the table.

Jim turned to John. “Tarvek—that’s not _Aaron_ Sturmvoraus’ son, is it?”

“Yup,” John replied. “Begged us to bring him and his cousin with us.”

“ _They’re_ the orphans you called about?!”

“You got a problem with that, Murph?” Klaus asked, filling the coffee pot from the bathroom tap.

“Only insofar as the Detroit police think they’ve been kidnapped. It’s been all over the radio this morning.”

“Look, the Ann Arbor police can vouch for us,” John stated as they sat down. “We’d just helped them take down a gang that had ties to the Knights of Jove, and I’d told them we’d try to go after Sturmvoraus next. Plus, Tarvek swears he’s been trying to get himself emancipated so they could run away. When we’re done here, you can take them back to Blue Earth and let them talk to the fuzz from there.”

“And say what?!”

“They were rehearsing their story in the car last night,” Klaus supplied, switching on the coffee maker and coming to the table. “The true part seems to be that Sturmvoraus was trying to groom Tarvek to take over the business when his deal came due in two years. That included pushing him to try drugs, alcohol, and sex— _and_ learn how to cast thrall spells, although I recommended leaving that out. Violetta was to become a Smoke Knight and be Tarvek’s servant and personal bodyguard. Both of them had been resisting as best they knew how. Sturmvoraus hadn’t gotten around to using force yet, but it was only a matter of time.”

Jim paled. “Dear Lord.”

“Tarvek’s planning to claim Anevka convinced him to take Violetta and run, making sure they left the house _before_ she went in to confront Sturmvoraus. The order Sturmvoraus gave his men included shutting down the security cameras, so there won’t be any tape to contradict him. And if he calls from a church, it’ll be all the more plausible.”

Jim nodded slowly. “We won’t call the Detroit police, then. We’ll call the FBI. If he’s willing to testify against his family, that is.”

“I think he might be. Violetta suggested they contact another cousin named Martellus, since he was out of the business, but Tarvek said he wasn’t about to trust a man who breeds werewolves.”

“Breeds _werewolves?_ ” John and Jim chorused incredulously.

Klaus held up his hands. “That’s what he said.”

Jim turned to John. “Sounds like a job for Turner.”

“I’ll say,” John replied. Rufus Turner wasn’t the only black hunter he knew, but he was one of the best, and he was also more likely than Gordon Walker and his ilk to recognize that weres, even though they needed killing, still had human sentience and deserved not to be treated like dogs. He’d probably find a way to bust this Martellus character for owning slaves, whatever happened with the weres themselves. “But enough about the mob. What’s the story with your case?”

“Well, I don’t know much yet. We’re supposed to meet the father at Harvelle’s at 10. He’s Bill’s favorite mechanic, says his daughter’s suffering from headaches the doctors can’t treat and having some other strange problems.”

“And Singer?”

“Got in last night, stayed with the Harvelles. Bill said he figured more heads would be better on this one. Turner’s snowed in somewhere in Ontario, but Bobby said he thinks the six of us should be able to figure it out.”

Klaus blinked. “Six?”

“Bill and Ellen are both hunters,” John explained. “Ellen usually stays home to run the bar and look after their daughter, but she’s no slouch herself.”

“I see.” Klaus checked his watch. “Guess we do have time for coffee, as long as we drink fast.”

“Roadhouse is only five minutes from here. We’re okay.”

Just then the coffee maker’s automatic shutoff popped, and conversation turned to more general catching up. All three men kept an eye on the time, however, and soon they were washing their coffee mugs and getting ready to go.

John opened the connecting door and called Dean over. “Gotta go to a meeting,” he said. “You kids stay here. We should be back before lunch.”

Dean nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“If you need anything before then, call my pager.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sammy hurried over with John’s jacket. “Be careful, Dad.”

John smiled and accepted it. “We will, Sport. Be good for Dean.”

“Yes, sir.”

John closed the door again, and the three men left in Jim’s car.

The Roadhouse looked deserted when they arrived; only Bill’s truck and Bobby’s Chevelle were parked out front. Ellen came out as they parked, however, and after shaking hands with Jim and John and introducing herself to Klaus, she reported that the man they were to meet was in fact there. “He parked in the back,” she explained. “He seems pretty embarrassed to be meeting you guys _here_ —Bill says he’s real active in church, and I get the impression he doesn’t drink. But like I told him, there’s not really a safer place in town to talk shop.”

Jim nodded. “And what did he say to that?”

“Nothing. He’s mute.”

“Huh,” said Klaus. “I grew up with a mute—good friend of mine. I can interpret if you need.”

Ellen nodded. “Might help. Thanks. C’mon in.”

They followed her in to find Bill and Bobby shooting pool while a _big_ dark-haired man—at least as tall and broad-shouldered as Klaus—sat at the bar with a mug of coffee, the hunch of his shoulders broadcasting his discomfort with the surroundings. He didn’t stir while Jim and John traded greetings with Bill and Bobby. But the second Klaus spoke to introduce himself, the man at the bar straightened in surprise and whirled around to look at them.

“And this is—” Bill began but broke off when he saw the stunned look on the big man’s face.

Klaus did a double-take and stared back. “ _Adam?!_ ”

The man at the bar stood—he _was_ bigger than Klaus, easily 7' tall—and the two of them took a few steps toward each other, still staring. Then suddenly the big man’s face twisted in fury, and he slugged Klaus, knocking him down.

“What the hell was that for?!” Klaus asked.

 _You not call!_ the big man—Adam?—signed sharply.

“How _could_ I call? Nobody back home had your phone number!”

Adam huffed, but that seemed to mollify him, and he pulled Klaus to his feet and into a hug.

“Missed you, too, you big lug,” Klaus said, muffled by Adam’s chest but sounding happier than he had since John had caught up with him in October.

“Didn’t see that coming,” John murmured to Jim, who raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement. They’d both heard a million stories about these two and the Sanders brothers from Klaus back in ’Nam, but somehow John’s mental image of Adam Clay had... fallen well short of reality. And he really hadn’t expected this reunion to happen at all, let alone here and now.

Suddenly Adam released Klaus and started signing, small and close to his chest. Klaus’ expression grew grave as he replied in kind, and when Adam nodded once and signed something else, Klaus swore in Hmong.

“What?” John asked. “Is his daughter....”

“Adopted,” Klaus explained with a nod, turning back to the other hunters. “She’s the girl Aaron Sturmvoraus wanted me to find.”

Adam stared incredulously, and Ellen took a deep breath and said, “I think we’d better all sit down.”


	3. NOW: Chapter 2

Gil’s discomfort was growing by the minute, and not because Sammy and Violetta had Zoing out of his tank and were playing blocks with him on the floor. Zoing was clearly enjoying the attention, and Sammy was taking the opportunity to recite all the lobster facts he knew for Violetta, who’d never seen a live one before, so that was okay. It wasn’t the motel itself, either; most of the places they’d stayed had a bad aura, and Gil had learned long ago to tune it out. It wasn’t even Dean, who was on watch. He was watching TV from Dad’s bed and was pretty relaxed under the circumstances.

No, it was Tarvek. He’d gone back to the Winchesters’ room after only a few minutes of watching Violetta and Sammy, claiming he had a headache and was going to take a nap. But the pain Gil sensed rolling off of him wasn’t physical, and it was just as obvious that he wasn’t really asleep.

Finally, Gil sighed and went through to the other room, sat down on the empty bed, and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Go away,” Tarvek said to the wall.

“I know you don’t really have a headache. Why are you hiding?”

Tarvek sighed heavily. “Your fathers don’t like me.”

Gil decided not to correct the plural for the moment. “What makes you say that?”

Tarvek rolled over to face him, frowning. “They didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“My father was a gangster. A drug dealer. He killed my sister yesterday.”

“Oh. Gee. I’m sorry. Was it an accident, or....”

“No, it was murder. Father was stoned, but I... I think he meant to. And the awful thing is, if he hadn’t shot her, I think she would have killed him.” When Gil’s jaw dropped, Tarvek continued, “Look, my great-grandfather was to Detroit what Capone was to Chicago. The only member of my family I’ve ever been able to trust is Violetta. I don’t _blame_ your fathers for not trusting me.”

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt,” Gil noted.

Tarvek frowned. “What are you, psychic?”

Gil rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to think of an explanation; _psychic_ didn’t seem to fit the way he could sense things, but he’d never tried to find a word for it before and wasn’t sure what would be better. He’d just remembered the term _psionic_ from _Doctor Who_ when Mr. Winchester’s coded knock sounded at the door. Gil got up to answer, but Mr. Winchester had taken his own key and opened the door himself.

“Gil, Tarvek,” he said as he came in. “Where’s—”

“Next door, sir,” Gil answered at the same time Dean called, “In here, Dad.”

“Get your coats,” Mr. Winchester ordered, loudly enough to be heard in the next room.

Tarvek sat up at that.

Violetta bounced through the connecting doorway, a coat in each hand, as a splash announced that Sammy had put Zoing back in his tank. “Time for lunch?” she asked.

“Little early for that yet,” Mr. Winchester answered, and Gil looked at the clock to see that it was only 10:30. “Although we probably will eat while we’re out. Some old friends of Mr. Wulfenbach’s have invited us over, want you kids to meet their daughter.”

“Oh! Okay, cool!” Violetta hurried over to hand Tarvek his coat.

“All of us?” Tarvek asked, looking worried.

“All of you,” Mr. Winchester confirmed. “Mr. Wulfenbach’s gone on ahead. You two ride with Pastor Jim; he wants to talk to you about some things before you join us. Dean, Gil, and Sammy, with me.”

“Yes, sir,” the boys all chorused, and everyone rushed to put on coats and leave, all piling into the waiting cars at the same time.

But rather than leaving at once, Mr. Winchester waited until Pastor Murphy had driven away before turning around to look at the three boys in the back seat. “One thing you should know, boys.”

“Is this a hunt, sir?” Dean asked. A few months ago, he might have been less direct, but Sammy had found Mr. Winchester’s journal while their dads had been gone before Christmas, and as a result, Gil had also found out what they did.

“It is,” Mr. Winchester replied. “Near as we can figure, anyway. Uncle Bobby’s meeting us there, too. The girl’s Sammy’s age; she’s the victim. I want you three to find out what you can from her while we talk with her parents.”

“Yes, sir,” the boys chorused.

Mr. Winchester nodded and backed out of the parking space.

“Are Tarvek and Vi going to live with Pastor Jim?” Sammy asked.

“Probably,” Mr. Winchester answered. “Nothing’s set yet. That’s what they’re going to talk about. We also think Tarvek’s dad might have something to do with what’s happening to Agatha, although we’re not really sure yet. That’s why I want you boys to talk to her first.”

“Okay. I mean, yes, sir.”

“Oh, and just so you know, Mr. Clay is mute. He can hear, but he talks through Sign.”

“Good thing we learned Sign at Pastor Jim’s church last summer,” Dean said. “Gil, do you....”

“Dad taught me,” Gil replied. “There’ve been times when we needed it, if he thought our room might be bugged or something. He said he learned from Mr. Clay.”

“Awesome. We should practice sometime.”

“Yeah, sure!”

They didn’t say much else on the short trip to the Clays’ house, which was two stories tall and had a two-car garage. It was a pretty house, with blue siding, white trim, and a metal roof, and the front lawn and flower beds were neatly manicured. Still, something felt _off_ from the moment the Winchesters’ car turned onto the Clays’ street, and that feeling only got stronger as Mr. Winchester parked in the driveway and led the boys up to the front door. Sammy started squirming as they walked and kept looking worriedly up at Dean, but Dean didn’t seem to notice. So Gil tapped Sammy’s shoulder and nodded when Sammy looked at him. Sammy relaxed a little, understanding that it wasn’t just him, but didn’t look any less worried as Mr. Winchester knocked on the door.

A _tall_ brunette lady—maybe as tall as Dad!—answered the door and smiled welcomingly. “You must be Mr. Winchester,” she said, shaking hands.

“Yes, ma’am,” Mr. Winchester replied. “My sons Dean and Sammy, and Klaus’ son Gil.”

Mrs. Clay shook hands with each boy but chuckled when she got to Gil. “I’d know whose you were a mile off, Gil. You favor your grandmother.”

Gil didn’t know what to say to that, so he just smiled.

“Do come in,” Mrs. Clay continued and stepped back to let them into the front hall. “Agatha, dear?”

A blonde girl with big round glasses and a wild cowlick came out of the room to their right, looking like she didn’t feel very well. And Gil suddenly felt light-headed. Here was the focus of the wrongness, for sure, but the wrongness was trying to suppress something _else_ about her that Gil couldn’t put his finger on but that made his heart race.

“Here are the boys Uncle Klaus wanted you to meet,” Mrs. Clay told her. “This is Dean, Sammy, and Gil. Boys, this is Agatha.”

“Hi,” said Dean, shaking hands.

“That’s a pretty name,” said Sammy, earning a smile.

“Hi,” said Gil, extending his hand. “Nice to me—”

He broke off briefly as she took his hand because he felt a jolt of _something_ —not static electricity; deeper and stronger and indefinable, wonderful and scary all at once—pass between them as if they had just closed the switch on a circuit. He’d shaken hands with a lot of people in his life, but never had he felt anything like _that_ before. Her eyes widened at the same time, and he could tell she felt it, too.

“—eet you,” he finished, hoping he didn’t sound as breathless as he felt.

“Uh,” she replied and snatched her hand away. “Hi.”

Mrs. Clay put her hand on Agatha’s back. “Why don’t you and the boys go in the living room to visit while Dad and I chat with Uncle Klaus and his friends?”

“’Kay,” Agatha said and rubbed at her forehead. “In here,” she told the boys, looking mostly at Gil, and pointed into the room she’d just come from.

“Are you okay?” Gil asked, not quite sure what he meant, as the four of them went into the living room and Mr. Winchester followed Mrs. Clay deeper into the house.

“I get these headaches,” Agatha explained and sat gingerly on the couch. “Today’s not quite so bad, but it’s still bad enough. Sorry,” she added.

“What are you sorry for?” Dean returned, plopping down in one of the recliners as Sammy sat on the loveseat and Gil hesitated, unsure where to sit. “It’s not your fault. Not like you can plan headaches, even if you’d known we were coming.”

“I know, but you came to see _me_ , and I feel like I’m being a bad hostess. It’s an awful first impression.”

That made up Gil’s mind. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” he said, sitting down on the other end of the couch. (He couldn’t pull her into a comforting hug. He’d just met her.) “Mr. Winchester warned us you might not be feeling too good.”

She smiled at him, but it didn’t ease the pain lines around her eyes. “Thanks.”

“That’s a pretty necklace,” Sammy remarked, pointing to—huh. Now that he looked at it, Gil couldn’t really _see_ the gold pendant Agatha was wearing, even though he’d noticed it before they’d shaken hands. At this angle, there was some sort of black fog around it.

Agatha reached up and played with the pendant like she was nervous. “Thanks. My parents gave it to me for my birthday last year. It was my mother’s—my birth mother’s, I mean. It’s a locket, actually, has their picture in it. Only one I have, really.”

Dean frowned. “You’re adopted?”

Agatha nodded. “My birth parents were killed the same day I was born. My uncle didn’t think he could take care of me, so Mom and Dad adopted me. They already had a daughter; her name’s Maxinia. She’s all grown up and married now. They live in Omaha. And she’s gonna have a baby soon!”

“Oh, awesome!”

“Not that _I_ care,” Agatha continued in a louder, harsher, much older tone and with a snooty expression, and the darkness around the locket pulsed. “It’s not like I ever see them anyway.”

The boys exchanged a look.

The snooty expression vanished into confusion, and Agatha blinked. “Um. Did... did I say something mean?”

“Yeah, kind of,” Dean answered. “Not super mean, but a little.”

Agatha groaned and rubbed her forehead again. “This keeps happening. Sometimes I black out a little; sometimes I just hear myself saying something, and... and it’s not _me_ saying it. It’s really scary.”

“I bet,” Gil said carefully. “When did this start?”

“Last year.”

“Was it before or after your birthday?”

“Um... a few weeks after. Can’t remember for sure. The headaches started first. I’ve been to all kinds of doctors, but they can’t find anything wrong.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “That’s interesting.”

Sammy hummed thoughtfully and turned to Dean. “I wonder if it’s that dis—discosiative—”

“Dissociative identity disorder? You mean like multiple personalities?”

“HA!” Agatha cried in that other voice, and the darkness flared up even more. “What does a _child_ know about psychology?” Then the darkness subsided again, and she blinked and buried her face in her hands with a groan.

“Yahtzee!” Sammy breathed and looked at Gil. “Did you—”

Gil nodded. “Yeah. It’s the locket.”

Dean frowned and looked from his brother to Gil and back again. “O-kay. But we’re gonna need a better way to prove that to Dad than just your say-so.”

Agatha tried to hum thoughtfully, but the darkness flared again, and she broke off with a cry of pain and clutched at her head.

“What about an EMF meter?” Gil suggested. “Isn’t that what they use on all the ghost-hunting shows?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, “but I don’t think Dad has one.”

“Could we make one?”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Maybe. But where—”

“Da—Da—Daddy’s got a workbench,” Agatha gasped. “In the garage. Has... some ele-... electronics stuff. Owwwww....”

 _Nuts to everything_ , Gil thought and slid over to put an arm around her shoulders. “Do you think you can walk?”

She nodded slightly. “If you guy—guys can he—help me, I can... I can show you.”

Sammy jumped up and ran over as Gil let her grip his free hand and did his best to ignore the head rush that followed. As they stood, Sammy pulled her free arm around his shoulders and put a steadying arm around her waist.

Dean stood, too, and went ahead of them to the hall. “Which way?”

“Kitchen,” Agatha panted. “Straight back... then right.”

Sammy and Gil tried to help her to walk, but another pain spike nearly sent her to the ground. So Gil scooped her up and carried her out after Dean and Sammy, past what was probably the dining room—he could hear the adults talking, but they didn’t seem to notice what the kids were doing—and into the spacious kitchen. Dean tried one door that turned out to be the pantry, another that went to the laundry room, and finally the door that clearly led to the garage. Sammy ran through first and found a shop heater to switch on.

“Are either of these cars unlocked?” Gil asked Agatha as he followed Sammy.

“Nuh,” Agatha answered. “But there’s... there’s some lawn chairs....”

“I spy,” said Dean and went to get two of them. He set them up close to the heater, but not too close, and Gil eased Agatha into one of them while Sammy sat down in the other.

“Anything else we need before we get started?” Gil asked the group at large.

Dean had grabbed a stepstool and was investigating the upper cabinets of Mr. Clay’s work area. “Everything’s labeled,” he reported. “Think we’re good to go.”

“Awesome.” Gil went to the workbench and grabbed two pairs of safety glasses from a bin as Dean climbed down with a handful of equipment. “Have you ever done this before?”

“No. You?”

“Never.”

Gil handed Dean a pair of glasses. Dean handed Gil a soldering iron.

“You ready?” Dean asked, grinning.

Gil grinned back. “Let’s rock.”

* * *

  
“I mean, it happens to all of us, doesn’t it?” Judy said. “You open your mouth, and your mother comes out, or your father. But Agatha never _knew_ Lucrezia. She and Bill killed each other the day Agatha was born. Granted, she does favor Lucrezia in looks, and her voice is very similar to Lucrezia’s, but... in personality, she’s pretty much a cross between Bill and Barry. I had _never_ heard her say anything that sounded like what Lucrezia would say until all this started.”

 _And she swears not her_ , Adam added.

Nodding, Judy interpreted that for Bobby. “She’s always very embarrassed when it happens, and it’s usually when she’s fighting a headache anyway.”

“You say Barry mentioned Lucrezia referring to Agatha as a vessel,” John noted. “Did he say anything about strange events the night she turned six months old?”

Adam and Judy exchanged a look. “Not that I remember,” Judy answered, and Adam shook his head. “What sort of strange events?”

“Anything. Lights flickering; sulfur in her bedroom; cattle mutilations; house fire.”

“House fire?!”

“Just examples,” Bobby interjected, giving John a warning glare.

“I think Barry would have said something about _that_ ,” Klaus said drily.

 _More worried about self_ , Adam signed. _Thought cursed._

“Cursed? In what sense?”

“He said he felt like there was something odd in his blood, like some kind of power,” Judy answered. “He was very worried that he’d lose control and accidentally hurt Agatha. He didn’t tell us anything specific... although now that you mention it, the lights _do_ flicker sometimes when Agatha’s headaches are worst.”

John frowned; he’d never heard of anyone older than Sammy dealing with that sort of problem before. But before he could ask anything more, Jim finally arrived with Tarvek and Violetta and returned Klaus’ room key, which he’d borrowed so they could go back and get the kids’ bags if needed. After the usual round of introductions, Judy started to send the new kids into the living room, only to find that Agatha and the boys were gone. Nor were they across the hall in what looked like a piano studio.

“Huh,” Judy said, looking around. “I wonder where—”

Suddenly there was a scream from the garage.

“GIL!” Klaus cried.

Everyone charged back toward the kitchen, only to be met by Dean running in with what looked like a Walkman with an antenna, which brought them to a halt. “Dad, there’s something wrong with Agatha’s locket,” he said urgently and brandished his gadget. “It’s generating EMF, and we tried to take it off of her, but it won’t let us.”

“You mean the clasp is stuck?” John asked.

“No, I mean it _won’t let us_. I can’t even get close to it. Sammy can, but he can’t touch it. Gil got hold of the clasp, but when he tried to open it, it _shocked_ him. And Agatha keeps chanting it’s hers, like... like... like Gollum with the Ring!”

“Curse box,” Bobby said and ran out to the Chevelle.

“When you say you can’t get close,” Jim pressed, “do you mean a force field, or....”

Dean grimaced. “No, it’s... this really strong thought that the locket has to stay on.”

Tarvek gulped audibly.

Klaus rounded on him. “What did your father want with Agatha? What was he trying to do?”

Tarvek quailed but answered, “T-t-to bring Lucrezia back!”

Judy gasped. Adam and Jim stared. Klaus looked like thunder.

And then from the garage came a feminine “Aaaaroooon....”

The color drained from Tarvek’s face. “Oh, no.”

Agatha giggled. “I heeear you, Aaaaarooon.”

Tarvek’s eyes glazed over. Alarmed, Violetta tried to grab his arm, but he dodged her.

“I’m waaaaitiiiiiing.” Another giggle. “Aaaaaaaaarooooooon....”

Breathing hard, Tarvek started toward the garage as if fighting against every motion, yet deftly avoided any adult attempt to stop him. About the time he crossed the threshold, Bobby came back in with the curse box and followed Tarvek into the garage. Klaus, John, and Dean followed Bobby, and everyone else crowded in behind them.

In the garage, Gil was sprawled on the floor behind a pair of lawn chairs, and Sammy was sitting next to him, apparently monitoring his pulse. Agatha was sitting in one of the lawn chairs in a pose that was _totally wrong_ for a nine-year-old, with a wicked grin on her face as she beckoned Tarvek nearer. And Tarvek, twitching and shuffling, kept heading toward her as if drawn by a tractor beam.

“Yeeessss,” Agatha said. “Thaaat’s it, darling. Closer... cloooseeer....”

Tarvek finally lurched to a stop in front of her chair. Then, still moving slowly and jerkily, he raised a hand and reached for the locket.

“Yes... _yes_... you know what to do, my darling... say it... _say it_....”

Tarvek’s hand closed around the locket, and he hesitated for the space of two harsh pants—and then, with a sudden snarl of “Go to hell, _witch!_ ” yanked the pendant off the chain and hurled it into the curse box, which Bobby slammed shut. And the tension in the air vanished.

“Three-pointer!” Gil cheered and sat up.

“ _Mommy!_ ” Agatha wailed and ran into Judy’s waiting arms.

Violetta passed her, going the other way. “Don’t DO that to me!” she cried, kicking Tarvek’s shins repeatedly and making him yelp in pain.

As Jim pulled her away and Klaus pushed past to check on Gil, Bobby went over to put a hand on Tarvek’s shoulder. “You’re a damn fine actor, boy. Almost had _me_ fooled for a sec.”

Tarvek smiled ruefully. “Thank you, sir.”

“I should have remembered,” John agreed. “You’ve got a hex bag, haven’t you?”

Tarvek nodded and pulled the top of the leather pouch out of his shirt. “I knew Lucrezia wouldn’t know I had it, but I couldn’t tell whether she was expecting my father or if she knew it was me and thought I was under thrall. My given name is Aaron Travis; Tarvek’s a family nickname Dyedushka gave me.”

“And how did you know it was her?”

Tarvek looked back toward the door, apparently checking to make sure Agatha was out of earshot, and sat down in one of the lawn chairs with a sigh. “Long, weird combination of things, really. I recognized her voice because... one time, when I was little, I woke up thirsty one night, but I wasn’t supposed to wake my nanny or buzz for a servant after bedtime. So I went downstairs to try to get a glass of milk or something from the kitchen, and... there was Father with this woman. Lucrezia. She was backed up against the wall, and he was....” He grimaced. “He was all over her, even though she was _really_ pregnant. But I remember she had that locket on; I noticed it because it caught the light when Father’s head wasn’t in the way. And she said something I couldn’t really hear well, but it was something along the lines of always coming back to him, even if she died. I... decided I didn’t really need a glass of milk after all and went back upstairs, so I didn’t hear a lot more than that. At least, not then. Then we found out that Lucrezia _did_ die, and Father—I think he was drunk for a month. I can’t really remember now. Mother took us to Russia for a while and made sure I stayed in the nursery for a long time after we came back.”

“But she wasn’t as cautious with Anevka,” Klaus noted.

“Anevka was ten years older than I am. And Mother was gone a lot. The only reason Father married her in the first place was that Lucrezia was married to someone else and he needed Dyedushka’s goodwill. The night it... it _happened_... like I said, Father was _really_ high, and he was the first to admit it afterward. He told me once he’d thought Anevka had the gift of being a medium and had her channel Lucrezia, only when she manifested, the ectoplasm was generated from Anevka’s body, and when Father tried to make out with the ghost, it harmed Anevka. But I think he just got that idea from a story I read once.* I think maybe he was so high he thought Anevka _was_ Lucrezia and... just... went too far.”

“Ewwwwww!” said Violetta, making a face.

“Did he try with anyone else?” Jim asked.

“ _Oh_ , yes.” Tarvek ran a hand over his face. “After Mother died, he kept this... this _harem_ of strawberry blondes in one of the guest houses. And every so often, especially when a new shipment of drugs came in, he’d... I-I don’t know details. If he sacrificed them, tried to summon her ghost into them, I don’t know. That’s one of the few things he never got around to telling me. All I know for sure is that a woman would come in the main house at night, and a body bag went in the river in the morning.”

Jim crossed himself and shook his head.

“You keep saying your dad _told_ you stuff,” Gil said. “Was this, like, over dinner?!”

Tarvek shook his head. “No, no, just the last year or so, whenever he’d make me try to find Agatha. He did try to scry for her, but none of the tracking spells worked. I don’t know why. What usually happened was that he’d start out looking over my shoulder, but as slow as Gopher is, he’d get bored and go off to get drunk, high, or both. Sometimes he wouldn’t come back, which was good. But when he did come back, he wouldn’t watch what I was doing; he would just... start _telling_ me things about Lucrezia, things I _really_ never needed to know. I guess he was trying to justify what he was doing. The last time, though, I did ask him at the start why he was so anxious to find this girl, and he said he thought she might have something on her, like that locket, that he could use to bring Lucrezia back _through_ her. I don’t know if he meant possession or what.”

“Whoever heard of a witch who really died?” Sammy quoted from _Prince Caspian_. “You can always get them back.”

“Not if we can help it,” Bobby growled.

“Indeed,” Jim agreed. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to bring back a woman capable of _that!_ ”

“Just one thing, Uncle Bobby,” Dean said. “Agatha says that’s the only picture of her birth parents she has.”

Bobby nodded thoughtfully. “Well, I’ll see what I can find out. If there’s some way to lift whatever this curse is, I’ll do it for her. Cain’t promise, though.”

At that, Sammy ran over to give Bobby a hug. “You’re the best, Uncle Bobby.”

“Well,” said Klaus, helping Gil to his feet. “If anyone has any appetite left, I vote we go get some lunch.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” John agreed, looking at Dean, and Dean nodded.

Tarvek looked a little green at the idea, but Jim said, “We already ate. And I think it’s time we were on our way. Don’t you, Violetta?”

“Yeah,” Violetta agreed. “If Uncle Aaron’s people haven’t figured out yet that we’ve left the state, Dyedushka’s might have. The sooner we get away from Agatha, the better for her.”

Tarvek nodded. “And I don’t know what commands Father might have given his people in the event of his death. I mean, he knew his deal was coming due soon, but I don’t know if he’d put plans in place this far ahead.”

Dean shivered. “Talking about people like they were robots, man... it’s freaky.”

“Yeah, well, that’s thrall for you,” Tarvek sighed and stood up. “And the sad thing is, if Mother hadn’t insisted on putting me in public school for a couple of years, I might not even have known that was what was going on. I don’t think I’d ever realized that it was _normal_ for people to be able to disobey until I got to school and the other kids just... wouldn’t listen to the teacher.”

Nobody really knew what to say to that, so Jim just put a hand on Tarvek’s shoulder and said, “Let’s go, son.”

Tarvek nodded, and everyone followed them back toward the kitchen.

“Oh, Singer,” John said, stopping Bobby. “Since we’re this close to Lawrence, why not take that to Missouri, see what she can learn from it?”

Bobby hummed thoughtfully and nodded. “Was gonna take it to a friend of mine in Pontiac, but you’re right, Lawrence is closer.”

“Pontiac, Illinois?”

“Yeah.”

“We came that way. Roads are terrible.” John censored himself more for Violetta’s sake than for the boys’, even though she’d just gone inside. “Especially in Iowa.”

“Good to know. Thanks.”

When they walked back into the kitchen, Adam and a damp-faced Agatha were sitting at the table in the breakfast room with big mugs of what smelled like hot chocolate, and Tarvek was awkwardly trying to say goodbye. “I’m really sorry we met like this,” he was saying.

Agatha sniffled. “I don’t really remember what happened, but Daddy says you were very brave. Thank you.”

Tarvek ducked his head, blushing a little. “I just couldn’t let her do that to you. Can we still be friends?”

Agatha nodded, smiling shyly.

“Me, too?” Violetta asked.

Agatha’s smile grew. “Sure, I’d like that.”

“YAY!”

“Agatha?” Judy called, coming downstairs with a small jewelry box with a bow on it.

Agatha sniffled again. “Yes, ma’am?”

Hunters and kids made way for Judy as she came into the breakfast room. “Dad and I were saving this until you were a little older,” she began, “but if you promise to be careful with it, we think you should have it now.”

“I promise!”

Judy handed her the box, and Agatha opened it to reveal a small leather pouch that looked like a hex bag. Gil and Tarvek both gasped.

“This was your father’s,” Judy explained when Agatha looked at her in confusion. “And if I’m not mistaken, your Grandma Teodora gave it to him when he was very small, to help protect him when they were escaping from the Nazis.”

The kids all oohed and ahhed.

“No _wonder_ my father could never find you,” Tarvek said. “He only tried at night, when you were home and this was shielding you.”

Gil nodded, staring at the bag. “That is... that is neat.”

Dean looked at Gil, eyebrow raised. “Major mojo, huh?”

“ _Oh_ , yeah. The good kind.”

Agatha gingerly picked up the bag and turned it over in her hand.

“Don’t take it apart,” Tarvek cautioned. “Whatever’s in there needs to stay there. Otherwise it won’t work.”

Agatha nodded. “Thanks. What’s this?” she added, running her finger over a design tooled in the leather.

“I don’t know, dear,” Judy admitted. “Anyone?”

Agatha held it up for general inspection—and John’s heart almost stopped. He’d seen that six-pointed star before.

When Bobby, Jim, and Tarvek all shook their heads, John cleared his throat. “My father used to have a tie tack with that on it. And my... my wife had a charm bracelet with all kinds of... protective symbols, I guess. She stopped wearing it after we got married. Anyway, that was one of the charms on it.”

“Either of ’em say what it was?” Bobby asked.

John shook his head. “Asked Pops, and he... he said he’d tell me when I was older. That was the night he disappeared, in ’58.”

Judy blinked. “Don’t tell me you’re—you’re _Cousin Millie’s_ son?!”

John frowned. “Wait, you’re....”

“Wright. Judy Wright. My mother and yours were first cousins!”

“Wright....” Now that John thought about it, he did vaguely remember getting Christmas cards from the Wrights in Mechanicsburg, and Judy’s voice was somewhat familiar, too. “Did... did you and your mom come out that next summer to help us move to Lawrence?”

“Mom did. I had basketball camp.”

“That’s right. I remember now. Man... small world!”

Agatha’s eyes went wide, and she turned to Sammy. “Does that mean _we’re_ cousins?”

“I guess, sorta,” Sammy replied, grinning.

“ _Awesome!_ ”

And on that much happier note, Jim and Bobby took their leave, and Sammy and Gil sat down to chatter with Agatha while John and Klaus signed with Adam and Dean helped Judy start lunch.

* * *

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Gil asked Agatha late that afternoon while everyone else was busy elsewhere.

Agatha nodded. “I haven’t had a headache since Tarvek took the locket off. And the weird thing is, I don’t know why I never took it off before.”

“That might have been part of the curse. Tarvek said his dad thought your mother wanted to use you to resurrect herself, and if she was... I dunno, haunting the locket or something, she wouldn’t want you to take it off.”

She shivered. “Now I know why my parents don’t talk about her much.”

“Yeah.”

“So, um... you’re not... staying in town, are you? I mean, moving here?”

He shook his head. “No. I’d kinda like to, but I don’t really get a vote.”

“Oh.” She looked disappointed for a moment but then asked, “You wanna be pen pals?”

His heart skipped a beat. “Sure. I’ve never had a pen pal before.”

“Really? Don’t your friends ever write to you?”

“Never really had friends, except Sammy and Dean.” When her jaw dropped, he added, “Well, Dad has me homeschooling ’cause we move so much. And there’s been some weird... stuff with paperwork I don’t really understand, although I think Mr. Winchester said Mr. Singer might be able to help us with it.”

“Well, you have a friend now,” she declared and kissed his cheek.

He was still trying to recover enough to figure out how to respond when Mrs. Clay called everyone into the kitchen to hear a call from Mr. Singer, which Mr. Winchester was just switching to speakerphone on the kitchen extension.

“All right, you’re on speaker,” Mr. Winchester announced.

“Bad news,” Mr. Singer began. “Seems Lucrezia was into some hardcore necromancy, set the spell with her own blood and her dying breath. It can’t be broken.”

“She is one mad mama,” added a lady’s voice. “That poor boy’d be a heap o’ ashes if this curse box weren’t so strong.”

“Kudos to Tarvek, then,” Dad said. “So what’s the bottom line? Can the picture be saved?”

“No chance,” Mr. Singer said regretfully. “Hate to say this, Miss Agatha, but the only safe thing to do with this locket is to burn it. But I won’t do that without your say-so.”

Agatha swallowed hard and took Mrs. Clay’s hand. “Is... is my mother haunting it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the lady with Mr. Singer said. “Got her soul tied into it so tight, only way she’ll let go of her own accord is to move into you.”

“But if you burn it, she can’t hold on to me anymore?”

“That’s right, baby. An’ you listen to Missouri, now—you already got a wonderful mama there, loves you like her own, ain’t never gonna hurt you. Wonderful daddy, too. An’ your father, seems like, was a real good man. This woman in here?” There was a thump, like the lady (Missouri?) was knocking on the curse box. “She might be blood, but she sure ain’t family. Those folks with you now, _that_ ’s your family.”

Agatha leaned against Mrs. Clay, took a deep breath, and said, “Burn it.”

Gil was insanely proud of her.

And it sounded like Mr. Singer was, too, when he replied, “Yes, ma’am. Good call.”

“Amen,” Missouri agreed. “God bless you, honey. You take care, now.”

“Thank you, Miss Missouri,” Agatha answered. “God bless you, too.”

Mr. Winchester hung up, and Mrs. Clay knelt and gave Agatha a big hug and let her cry a little.

“Guess we’d better head on back to the motel,” Dad said. “Zoing’s probably wondering where supper is.” When Mr. Clay signed something Gil didn’t catch, Dad glanced at Gil and added, “Well, we might stay a couple days.”

That led to a round of goodbyes and hugs from everyone, including Agatha, which left Gil dizzy. And then they piled into the Impala, got fried chicken to go, and went back to the motel. They ate in the Winchesters’ room, but Gil ate as fast as he could and then pled exhaustion, fed Zoing, and went straight to bed before anyone else was finished.

He couldn’t have a crush on Agatha. He _couldn’t_. She was _nine_ —she was a kid still! What was going on?!

Suddenly, Zoing tapped on the wall of his tank to get Gil’s attention.

“What?”

 _Ugettagurl?_ Zoing asked.

“Oh, shut _up_ ,” Gil groaned, rolled over on his stomach, and pulled the pillow over his head.

* * *

“It’s not FAIR!” Lucrezia bawled. “Everything was PERFECT!”

“Now, now,” Alastair soothed, petting her head. “Azazel warned you nothing could be guaranteed without a deal. But perhaps you’re closer to your goal this way than you think.”

“Oh, please, _please_ , I’ll do anything!”

“In due time, poppet. In due time. But there are certain procedures that have to be followed. After all....”

She gasped loudly as a thousand white-hot knives impaled her spectral form.

“... you _are_ in Hell.”

* * *

* Said story is “The Last Séance” by Agatha Christie. It is _super_ creepy.


End file.
